


Maybe I Can Help?

by eating_custardinbed



Category: IT Crowd
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Change to canon, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moss tries to run away, Namco - Freeform, Teen AU, Very fluffy, and it doesn't go well, chapter one is h/c, chapter two is FLUFF, it's set in the nineties, we need more moss/roy fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eating_custardinbed/pseuds/eating_custardinbed
Summary: When a 15-year-old Maurice Moss decides to run away from home in a moment of white-hot anger, he ends up at Namco, at a complete loss for what to do. Until Roy Trenneman, away on holiday during his first time out of Ireland, decides to help him outalso posted on my Tumblr!!
Relationships: Maurice Moss/Roy Trenneman
Comments: 18
Kudos: 46





	1. Quite a Different Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> There are CRIMINALLY little Moss/Roy fics. Seriously, it is PITIFUL. So, in lieu of enough to read, I decided to write one. Also uploaded to my Tumblr @unhealthily-obsessed-and-ranting

Gillian Moss, just like her son, had a routine. Every morning, she would wake up at half-past seven, use the bathroom, get dressed, make herself a nice cup of tea and then she would start to cook breakfast for the family. At quarter to eight, her son Maurice would drag himself downstairs in his school uniform and would accept a plate of two poached eggs, two slices of toast, no butter, and a glass of orange juice from her. At eight, she would pack him off in the car, give her drowsy husband a kiss on the cheek and a cup of coffee as he came down the stairs, and then she would drive her son to school on her way to work. It was a simple routine, but it worked for her and her family. Most importantly, less Maurice have a devastating meltdown, the routine did not get changed. 

Which was why it was so strange when at ten to eight, Maurice still wasn’t downstairs. 

Abandoning the breakfast, Gillian made her way upstairs with deep apprehension. This was not normal, no-sir-ee. Even when he was sick, her son would stick to his routine, only going back upstairs when she forced him to. She still remembered when he vomited all over the cat like it was yesterday. And he wouldn’t have slept in, the boy had a body clock more accurate than the one in the kitchen. What could possibly have caused this? 

The bathroom door was open, ruling that out. Nervously, she poked her head into her and her husband’s bedroom: sometimes, when Maurice was having a particularly bad night, he would come in and sleep on their floor, needing the reassurance that he wasn’t alone in the house to sleep, and given that she’d ended up sleeping in the downstairs guest room last night it was entirely plausible. 

He wasn’t there. 

Next, she checked the office, where they kept the computers. It was not unheard of for Maurice to sneak in there in the dead of night and spend all night coding away, sometimes even falling asleep on top of the keyboard. Maybe it was just that again? 

He wasn’t there. 

That only left his bedroom. Maurice was incredibly against her ever going in there, claiming that she would “mess it up”. Mess up what, she wasn’t exactly sure: the room was a tip, dirty clothes and old cups and broken bits of computer things all over it. The only reason she didn’t go in was because he did clean it properly once a week, and as long as he kept the door closed the smell wasn’t _too_ bad. Taking a deep breath, she turned the doorknob and opened the door.

Predictably, the room was in shambles. There was stuff everywhere, and the only thing that had some sort of order was the desk. Unusually, though, the bed wasn’t made, and if there was one thing that her son always did it was make his bed. It looked as if it had been ransacked in the middle of the night, all unkempt and ruffled up. His backpack, too, was missing, along with the secret stash of sweets he had up there that he thought she didn’t know about. When she checked his drawers, there were various favourite items gone. The window was wide open, the wind blowing the curtains aside. There was no doubt about it. 

Maurice Moss had gone. 

“Jerry!” she shrieked, as she stifled a sob, looking wildly around the room. “JERRY!” 

“What?” came a gruff, tired voice from the other bedroom. Not a minute later, Gerald Moss appeared, rubbing his eye with one hand and tying his dressing gown with the other. When he saw his wife, close to tears and clutching to their son’s bedroom door like a lifeline, all tiredness immediately seemed to leave him. “What’s wrong?” 

All Gillian said simply said was: 

“He’s gone.” 

***

Never before had Moss felt so free! 

He was sprinting down the high street, hands holding onto the straps of his backpack as tightly as possible. The wind was whipping through his hair, breaking through his thin coat, chilling him to the very bone, but he didn’t care. He was free! He had a whole fifty pounds-- his last couple months’ worth of pocket money and some of his leftover birthday money-- to his name, enough Smarties to last him until next week and an iron-clad will: he could do anything! 

“Anything”, namely, being going to Namco and spending at least half of it all in one go. 

He’d left his house at four a.m. in the dead of night. He’d battled with an urban fox at the skips round the back of KFC for rite of passage, and had eaten some sweets at around six a.m. to keep him going. Ever since, he’d been running around aimlessly, waiting for Namco to open at nine. The streets had been getting steadily busier with commuters and office workers, all of which had given him a strange look as they walked past. True, he was wearing khakis, his best smart shirt and his battered old Pumas, but it was the only comfortable thing he seemed to own anymore. 

He came to a halt outside the doors of the arcade, panting heavily. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that it was nearly eight o’clock. His stomach rumbled as he thought of the breakfast he should have been eating, and he smiled a little. Then his heart seized as he thought of his mother, his father, his school, even. 

Was he going to get into trouble? 

_No,_ he thought. _They’ll understand._ Really, it was all his mother’s fault, anyway. Why in the world couldn’t he spend his entire life on the computer? They were the future, he swore by it! And here she was, trying to _limit_ his time on it! Well, that was fine, because once he was finished at Namco he was getting on a train, he was getting out of London. Good luck to them finding him _then_! 

There was a noise just by his head, a jangling of sorts that caught his attention and brought him back to reality. He looked up and saw a Namco employee unlocking the metal guttering over the front of the shop, who was, of course, giving him a weird look. 

“Moss?” the guy-- Matt, Moss quickly recognised him to be-- said after a few seconds of confused staring from both of them. “What are you doing here?” 

_Think fast, think fast,_ Moss urged himself. 

“Um... mum said I could come down here today,” he blurted. It was the first thing that came to his mind. 

“Don’t you have school?” Matt asked. Moss shook his head. 

“Heating’s broken,” he replied. Matt took a moment, and then shrugged. 

“Hey, you wanna come in?” he asked. “It’s freezing out here.” 

Moss nodded enthusiastically, letting him finish unlocking the arcade and then following him inside. 

Oh, what a day he was going to have! 

***

“Roy! Hurry up, we don’t want to be late!” 

The sixteen-year-old huffed as he pulled on his t-shirt, spraying on some deodorant as an afterthought. He ran a hand through his greasy curly hair in a pathetic attempt to ‘style’ it, and then grabbed his wallet from the hotel cabinet. How you could be _late_ to a cafe breakfast, he wasn’t sure, but he knew better than to piss his mum off. 

“Yeah, coming, mum!” he shouted, taking one last look in the mirror before leaving his room and locking it behind him. 

Sure, London was great. It was busy, that was certain. Much busier than Blarney, that was true. It was full of grandeur and beauty, but even so he was missing Ireland a little bit. This was his first time out of the country, and whilst he fully appreciated his parents doing it for him, he was feeling a bit homesick. He was especially missing being able to get on the bus every Saturday morning and go down to the nearest town to them and go to the arcade there. 

“Where are we goin’ today, then?” he asked his mother when he saw her. She was sitting in the little recreation area of their hotel room, with a shit-eating grin on her face and a cup of tea in her hands. “And please don’t say more big buildings, it’s feckin’ freezing outside.” 

“Language!” came his father’s deep voice from the bathroom. 

“We’re going to go get some breakfast,” his mother said, taking a sip of tea. “Then we’ve got a bit of a treat for you whilst your father and I go to St Paul’s Cathedral!” 

Roy groaned inwardly. The last time his parents had organised a “treat” for him, it had been his thirteenth birthday and it had transpired to be a bouncy castle meant for four year olds. Even so, he forced himself to smile. 

“Thanks, mum,” he said, leaning forward and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure it’ll be great.” 

*** 

Namco was greatest when no-one else was there, Moss had decided. 

It was officially half an hour after opening time now, and Moss had been there for a full _hour and a half_! It was thrilling, it really was. He’d had a few goes on the claw machines, played a few first person shooters, and now he was playing on the two-pence machines, feeding coins into the machine one by one. He’d spent about ten pounds all-in-all, and he was having an absolute whale of a time. 

He was so absorbed in his game that he didn’t hear Matt calling his name from across the arcade. In fact, he forgot about him entirely until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped, looking over to Matt. 

“I’ve got your mother on hold,” he said, gesturing towards the front desk. Moss’ heart began to hammer at that, his stomach dropping to his feet. “She wants to know if you’re here.” 

“Tell her I’m not!” he said with much more force than what was necessary. 

“Moss--” Matt tried to say, but Moss cut him off. 

“Matt, please! Just tell her I’m not here!” 

Matt nodded, perturbed. 

“Fine,” he said, although he sounded distinctly uncomfortable. “But you owe me.” 

With that, he walked back over to the front desk, and Moss heard him say “he’s not here, sorry”. It didn’t ease his anxiety one little bit. His chest felt like it was stuck in a vice, and he was frozen on the spot. As he struggled to draw a breath, his legs seemed to collapse beneath him and he slid to the floor, back to the machine as he drew his knees up to his chest. He was going to get into trouble, he _was._ He should have known! He looked down at his watch: nine forty-two. He was supposed to be in Biology right now! He was supposed to be at school, but here he was at _Namco_! Namco! He wasn’t supposed to be here, with its scratchy carpets and loud noises and impossibly bright lights. He was supposed-- 

“Hey, um, can I... help you?” 

***

After breakfast, Roy had been led down a complex series of by-streets and back-alleys by his parents. The journey took nearly half an hour, and towards the end of it Roy was dragging his feet, moaning about how much his legs were starting to hurt. 

“Where are we _going_ , mum?” he asked for the sixth time in the last thirty minutes. She tutted back at him. 

“So impatient, boy!” she said, before holding her hand out and grinding them all to a halt. “Look, we’re here now anyway.” 

Roy looked around the street in confusion. It seemed like a perfectly normal street, a few bus stops dotted around, cars and taxis going up and down the road, a few corner shops here and there. Then he noticed the building they were standing by: the bright neon sign read _Namco Amusements_. 

“We know you’re missing home,” his mother said. He looked back to her, a look of pure joy on his face. “So here’s twenty pounds, we’ll meet you at the cafe down the road in an hour or so and you can have a bit of time in here.” 

“Thank you so much!” he yelled, giving them both a quick hug before taking the money and sprinting into the arcade. 

It was so much bigger than the one back home. Back home, there were two or three claw machines, some first-person shooters and an air hockey table. Here, they had all sorts! It was all but deserted, with a bored manager slumped at the front desk and a tall kid with a backpack bent over one of the coin machines. Roy smiled to himself, and made his way over to the change machine in earnest. 

He’d been playing uninterrupted for nearly half an hour when he noticed some commotion over by the coin machines. He looked over, and saw the manager saying something to the tall kid. The kid looked distressed, wringing his hands and begging with the manager. The manager nodded, and made his way back to the front desk. Not a minute later, the kid disappeared from sight. Roy frowned, craning his neck to try and get a better look. No, he’d entirely disappeared from view. Abandoning his game of whack-a-mole, he made his way cautiously across the arcade, casting a quick look back at the manager. Said manager was now looking at the phone with apprehension, looking backwards and forwards between it and the coin games. Roy shook his head, not putting much stock in it. 

As he reached the machines, he gave them a quick look over. On top of one of them was a pot filled with two pence coins and a half-full tube of Smarties. Shrugging it off, he rounded the side of the machine and finally clapped eyes on the tall kid. 

The kid was sobbing his eyes out, his face buried in his knees which were drawn up to his chest. His hands were clamped over his ears, and he was rocking a little, murmuring something to himself. He looked so small and so helpless that Roy couldn’t help but kneel down next to him. He was about to put his hand on the kid’s shoulder, but thought better of it at the last moment and instead said: 

“Hey, um, can I... help you?” 

***

Slowly, Moss released his hands from the side of his head and looked up at the owner of that lovely soft Irish-accented voice. It was another teenage boy, probably around the same age as him if he had to guess. He was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the Star Wars logo, old ratty-looking jeans and a pair of Adidas trainers. He had a hoodie tucked under his arm. If Moss had to guess, he seemed concerned, but it was well-known that Moss was often wrong about these things. 

“I’m sorry?” he heard himself saying. He winced at the sound of his own voice: he sounded teary and snivelly and pathetic. With a trembling hand, he tried to readjust his glasses.

“Do you need any help?” the boy repeated. “It’s just...” 

“I need to get out of here,” he babbled before he could stop himself. “I ran away, and I’m really not supposed to be here, and--” 

“Hang on a minute,” the other said, chuckling a little. Moss watched as he lowered himself down to sit next to him on the floor with a grunt and a groan. “Let’s back up a bit. What’s your name?” 

Now, Moss’ mother had always told him to never tell his name to strangers, lest they try to steal him away. This boy, however, was lulling Moss into some sense of security. 

“Maurice Moss,” he said as he dried his cheeks and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “But most people call me Moss.” 

“Alright, well I’m Roy Trenneman,” the boy said, holding out his hand. Tentatively, Moss shook it. “But most people call me Roy.” 

The two shared a chuckle and Moss managed a smile, looking down at the sticky carpet. 

“Did you say you ran away?” Roy continued. Moss nodded. “Why?” 

“My mother was trying to limit my computer time.” 

Moss felt his cheeks burn as he said it. But instead of the laugh he was expecting, he heard Roy saying, 

“Oh I get that, mine’s always getting at me about how much time I spend on it.” 

Moss gaped at the other boy, wrapping his arms around his knees as he looked at him. He wasn’t _bad_ to look at really. His hair could have probably done with a wash, but it was... nice. Curly. Not as curly as his, of course. And he liked Star Wars, that was evident from his t-shirt. 

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Roy announced, hauling himself up and then offering Moss a hand, which he took gratefully, he helped the other up. He passed Moss the tube of Smarties along with the coins. “I know a little cafe we can go to to pass the time, and then I’ll get my parents to drop you off wherever you need to go.” 

Moss was almost in awe as he followed Roy out of the arcade and across the street to a small independently-run cafe. How could this boy be so confident? He himself was barely able to speak to people he’d known for years, and here this boy was, speaking to a complete stranger with apparent ease! Conscious of how he must have looked, he did his best to keep his head down as they crossed the street, trying to scrub away the tear stains that still marked his cheeks. He let Roy order when they got into the cafe as well, keeping his eyes glued on the ground the entire time, only speaking to murmur his order to Roy. 

“Why don’t you go clean yourself up whilst we’re waiting?” Roy suggested gently once they had found a seat in the back corner of the cafe. Moss didn’t look up at him, but nodded and quickly shot off in the direction of the toilets. 

Once he had gone, Roy sat back in his seat, releasing a deep breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. That had been... eventful. Now that the boy-- Moss-- was gone, he could finally think clearly. He was... pretty. Skin the colour of mocha, the type of which it was extremely rare to see in Ireland, cute puffy hair, parted at the side. Slightly odd choice of clothing, yes, but if that’s what he felt comfortable in then that was all that really mattered. He was clearly struggling with something, perhaps the fear of what his parents were going to do to him when they finally found him. 

The waitress bringing over the drinks pulled him out of his thoughts. He thanked her, waiting until she had gone to pick up his mocha and take a gulp. It was far too hot to be drinking, but he didn’t really care. 

Why was he thinking about this boy like this? This was how he thought about girls! This was how he thought about Cindy McRoy, the insanely pretty girl who sat in front of him in Geography! This was _not_ how he thought about boys! 

“Sorry I took so long,” Moss said meekly as he took his seat opposite Roy, who looked up from his drink. “Um, how much do I owe you?” 

“Nah, it’s on me,” Roy said, taking another sip of his coffee. Moss nodded jerkily, taking a mechanical sip of his hot chocolate. 

“How long are your parents going to be?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Er,” Roy said. It was a good question. “Maybe half an hour? Maybe more.” 

Moss took a deep unsteady breath and nodded again. There was an uncomfortable silence as they both sipped at their drinks. 

“You know, I ran away once, too,” Roy said, putting down his cup and picking up the little complimentary biscuit, tearing the plastic wrapper open with his teeth. Moss gave him a confused look. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he replied through a mouthful of biscuit. “‘Bout a year ago now. Mam was pissing me off so I stole away in the middle of the night.” He paused to swallow. “Came back by seven the next morning, o’ course. Sheep ate the sleeve off my favourite jumper.”

Moss couldn’t help but snort at that. As soon as he had, however, his eyes went wide and he clamped his hand over his mouth, shaking his head. 

“Sorry... you had to... hear that,” he said falteringly. Roy gave him a sympathetic (?) look, picking up his drink again. 

“Nah, it’s alright,” he said. “I thought it was cute.” 

Moss blushed and tried his best not to stutter as he asked Roy how exactly the sheep had managed to eat said jumper sleeve whilst it was still (presumably) on Roy’s person. 

They talked nonsense for almost half an hour sitting in the back of that empty little coffee shop. They talked about fandoms, they exchanged silly stories, they moaned about school. Roy lamented to Moss about the problems of living in a small town where everyone knew everyone and privacy was something that other people had, and Moss shared his anxieties about getting stabbed on the Underground with Roy. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they barely noticed Roy’s parents come in until they were right by them. 

“Did you have a nice time?” Mrs Trenneman asked, interrupting Roy who was midway through an epic rant about Lord of the Rings to Moss. Roy stopped, looking up at her. Moss, on the other hand, looked towards the table and tried to sink into his chair. 

“Yeah, it was great,” Roy replied with a smile. 

“Who’s this?” she said, gesturing to Moss. Moss blanched and sat up very suddenly. 

“Oh, mum, dad, this is Moss,” Roy said quickly. Moss made no indication that he was being talked to or about, instead murmuring something under his breath with trembling lips as he stared straight ahead. “He’s got himself into a spot of bother, would it be alright if we took him back to the hotel with us so he can call his parents?” 

“Of course!” Mrs Trenneman said. “It’s no trouble at all, is it, dear?” 

“Nope, no trouble,” Mr Trenneman grunted. 

Roy nodded enthusiastically, grinning as he gently poked Moss in the arm. 

“C’mon, we can sort this out now.” 

***

Moss was completely silent the entire walk back to the Trennemans’ hotel room. He clutched at the straps of his backpack so tightly it hurt, just so his hands wouldn’t be flapping around all over the place. That unpleasant vice-like feeling around his lungs was back with a vengeance, and it was getting increasingly difficult to reach any semblance of normalcy. In no longer than twenty minutes or so, he was going to have to call his _mother_ and explain to her that not only had he run away, he’d skipped school, taken money that was supposed to live downstairs and had made a Namco employee lie to her for his own benefit. She was going to be downright _furious_! It was going to be the patio door all over again. Nothing would be able to make it better. He’d never be allowed to leave the house again! 

By the time they reached the hotel, he was in a terrible state. He was sweating something dreadful, despite the icy wind that was still whipping through the streets of London. He was shaking all over, and his legs felt like jelly, barely enough to support him. Just about, he managed to drag himself through the lobby and up the four flights of stairs, but as soon as they reached the hotel room, all decorum dropped. After Mrs Trenneman had unlocked the door and ushered him inside, he stumbled over to the bed and dropped to sit down on the edge of it, finally giving in to the overwhelming urge to fill his lungs with air. Except, he couldn’t: the invisible vice around his chest wouldn’t let him. He tried again, but to no avail. There wasn’t enough air going in, and Moss wasn’t stupid. Panicking, he ragged his backpack off and began to search desperately through it for his inhaler, but his eyesight was growing fuzzy with tears and his vision was starting to go a little black around the edges. He scrabbled desperately through the bag, but he couldn’t find it, he couldn’t find it, he was going to die here with these people he’d known for all of forty-five minutes, he was going to get into _trouble_... 

Then the mattress next to him dipped and Roy’s hand was on his. 

“Here,” he said softly. “Let me help you. What’re you looking for?” 

“Inhaler,” Moss gasped out. Trying to draw another deep breath into his burning lungs, he began to rub his hand along the familiar fabric of his corduroys. It helped, a little bit. 

It wasn’t longer before Roy was pressing his inhaler into his hands. Raising it to his lips with shaking hands, he managed two puffs on it before, of course, Maurice Moss’ incurable bad luck kicked in. 

He’d only gone and picked up his empty inhaler, hadn’t he? 

“Shit,” he heard Roy mumble. “MAM!” 

“What!?” Mrs Trenneman shouted back from her and her husband’s room. 

“Get on the phone and call Moss’ parents!” Roy yelled. “And tell them to hurry, and bring an inhaler with them!” 

When she heard that, Roy’s mother was in the room like a flash. When she saw the state Moss was in, she gasped, running towards the phone. 

“The number!” she said. “What’s the number?” 

“Moss, what’s the number!?” Roy asked, giving Moss a little shake. The other boy groaned, head bobbing forward as he swayed, his breathing more erratic than ever. “What’s your parents’ number?” 

Barely, Moss managed to whisper out the number, which Roy then quickly relayed to his mother. There was a quick and harried phone call, and then Mrs Trenneman came to sit on the other side of Moss. She rubbed his back a little, giving Roy a worried look. 

“Put your head between your knees, there’s a good lad,” she said to Moss. Her voice was so warm and comforting that Moss couldn’t help but do it, even if it did feel like a strange and unnatural position to be in. At least it hid the small smile that crept onto his face when Roy slipped his hand into his. 

As Rot sat there, clasping the hand of a boy he hadn’t known two hours ago in a cheap hotel room in London, he couldn’t help but reflect on just how insane the entire situation was. What would have happened to Moss if Roy hadn’t been there? Would he have left the arcade? Would he have wandered off? would something terrible have happened to him? Roy wasn’t sure, but he was damn glad that Moss was here and not wherever he would have been if he hadn’t picked him up. 

It continued like that for ten minutes or so, with Mrs Trenneman rubbing circles into Moss’ back, and Roy occasionally squeezing his hand to let him know he was there. Every so often, Moss would let out a cough, or he would gasp desperately and his body would seem to spasm, but he always squeezed Roy’s hand back. 

Eventually, after what seemed like an age, there was a frantic knock on the hotel door. Mr Trenneman took it. No sooner had he opened the door, Gillian Moss ran in, making a beeline for her son. She pushed Roy out of the way a little roughly to sit next to him. The sudden loss of touch was too much for Moss, and he held his hand out with a sob. 

“It’s alright, mum’s here,” Gillian crooned softly, helping him sit up and pushing the inhaler she’d been carrying into his trembling hands. “You’re alright, poppet.” 

As Gillian pandered to her son, Roy got up from the bed and went over to stand next to his dad, who was looking a little intimidated by Moss’ six-foot-seven towering father. Gerald Moss had his arms crossed over his chest, and was keeping a watchful eye on his family whilst also scrutinizing Roy and his father. 

“So,” Jerry finally said, his eyes falling on Roy, who stood up straighter than he’d ever stood up in his life. “You’re the one that found our Maurice, then?” 

“Y-yes, sir,” Roy stammered. There was another period of stern regarding, and Jerry opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted by his wife tapping him on the shoulder. Moss was next to her, looking pale and shaky. Tears were still trickling down his cheeks. 

“Jerry, take him down to the car, will you?” Gillian said, voice hushed. Jerry nodded, taking Moss by the shoulder as gently as a man of six-foot-seven with a good, muscular build could do. He nodded to Roy, nodded to Mr and Mrs Trenneman in turn and then led Moss out of the door and away. 

“Oh God, I am _so_ sorry,” Gillian said. She sounded as embarrassed as it was possible for a person to be. “My son... he’s mentally very young, he just doesn’t know how to handle the real world. I cannot say how _sorry_ I am that you had to pick up the slack of it.” 

“No, it’s okay, really, it is,” Mrs Trenneman gushed, coming over and resting her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. 

As the two expressed condolences to each other, Roy had a thought. Reaching for a pen and paper, he quickly scribbled something down. Just before Gillian was about to leave, he tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Our number,” he said, holding out the paper to her. “Tell Moss to call me, when he’s feeling better.” 

Gillian nodded, and as Roy watched her back as she left, he somehow knew that everything was going to turn out okay.


	2. A Second Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!!!
> 
> I really hope you all enjoy this, I worked really hard on it xx

**_Six months later: May 1994_ **

It was an unusually dreary day in central London for the time of year. GCSE exams were just getting underway, and the world was still in awe from the opening of the Channel Tunnel earlier that month. All in all, it was an entirely unremarkable day, and yet Maurice Moss felt as if he was on top of the world. 

True, every exam he walked into made him not want to live anymore. Yes, even thinking about future exams made him want to peel his skin off inch-by-inch and douse himself in malt vinegar. And okay, he was only one week into a month of hell, and a stressful hell at that. But none of that mattered now. Nothing in the outside world mattered. 

It was Friday, and that meant he got to call Roy when he got home. 

In the end, not much came of his running away. His parents had been so relieved that he was (relatively) okay that they had entirely forgotten to punish him. He had slept most of the day, exhausted by the day’s events, but when he dragged himself up and downstairs for dinner that night, his mother had slid a slip of paper across the table towards him. 

“From that nice boy who found you,” she had said when he gave her an inquisitive look. “He asked if you could call him when you felt better.” 

As soon as dinner had been finished, Moss had hopped up from the table and ran to the phone in the hallway. With apprehension and trembling fingers, he began to call the number before stopping and realising that Roy wouldn’t be able to answer it: he was still in London! Instead, he ended up researching the hotel in their battered old phone book and calling the number in there. After a nerve-wracking call with the front desk, he had been put through to the Trennemans’ room. 

“Joan Trenneman speaking, how can I help you?” Roy’s mother had chirped down the phone. Moss sucked in a deep breath. 

“Hello, is, um, is Roy there?” he asked timidly. He clutched the phone tightly towards his ears. “It’s only, erm...” 

“Oh, Moss!” Joan squealed. Then she must have put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, as there was some muffled talking, and then Roy’s voice came, saying, 

“Hey, Moss! You alright?” 

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I just, ah, wanted to... thank you.” When Roy stayed silent, he continued, “for helping me out, I mean.” 

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” Roy said quickly. “No problem at all. It was the least I could have done, really.” 

“Still, it was very... nice of you,” Moss said with a small smile. 

They continued to talk for a few minutes. Moss gave Roy his number again, since Roy had already forgotten it, and then the two promised they would call each other whenever they got the chance. Then they said their goodbyes, Joan insisted on speaking to Moss’ mum for a good twenty minutes and they hung up the phone. 

“Oh, I’m so proud of my baby!” Gillian gushed, pulling her son into an uncomfortable hug once she had hung up the phone. “He made a friend all by himself!” 

Then she tried to kiss him all over his cheeks, Moss squirmed and yelled at her to get off and she let him go back to his room. 

In the end, Moss and Roy had agreed that their phone calls should take place on a Friday night, once they were both home from school. It was a fixed constant, which helped both of their need for a routine, and always provided them with something to look forward to at the end of what was often quite a challenging week. 

You see, whilst Roy had managed to acquire a few friends at school, Moss had no-one. Not even the type of “mate” who you talked to in only one or two lessons. No-one. He sat alone, he ate alone, he walked home alone. It suited him just fine, really. That’s what he told his mother and all the teachers who tried to baby him, anyway. In reality, Moss would have loved nothing more than to have someone he could go and talk to. Maybe not all the time, granted, but for when a new comic came out. Or when the newest episode of his favourite TV show was out. Or when he beat the next level on his video game. 

He wanted a Roy who was there all the time, not just over the phone. 

On this particular week, it was the end of the first week of exams. After leaving his English exam, Moss had grabbed his stuff and bolted, sprinting all the way home and only having to stop to take a puff on his inhaler twice! Upon getting in, he allowed his mother five minutes of questioning before he made himself a couple of slices of toast with a thick layer of chocolate spread and settled himself by the phone in the hallway. 

It was Roy’s turn to call this week. In an attempt to keep their phone bills down, the mothers had forced the boys to create a bi-weekly calling schedule, in which they alternated who would receive the call. Moss had been resistant at first, arguing to his mother that calling himself allowed him some sort of predictability, but then Gillian had him work out the difference in cost and he had very quickly agreed. 

Taking a big bite of toast, Moss loosened his tie a little and removed his blazer, draping it neatly over the back of the chair as he kept an eye on the phone. His mind was buzzing. He had so much to tell Roy this week! How he’d got through all six of his exams without a major mental breakdown, how he’d nearly finished Mario Bros on his Atari, how Sandy Billingham and Sarah-Jane Cox in Year 10 had had a full-on _fight_ in the canteen during Wednesday lunchtime. There had been hair-pulling and scratching and everything! Oh, Roy was going to _love_ it! 

At exactly four-fifteen, just as with every other week, the phone began to ring. Moss picked it up straight away, not even allowing himself time to swallow the big bite of toast he’d just taken as he yelled greetings down the phone. 

“Afternoon, Moss,” Roy chuckled once Moss had fallen silent, more out of the necessity to swallow than anything else. “And exactly how much sugar have you eaten today?” 

“Not that much!” Moss protested, although he was smiling. “Only a muffin at lunch, some strawberry laces on the way home and toast.” 

Roy laughed, a sound that Moss relished in. 

“How was school?” Roy asked. 

“It was alright,” Moss said. 

“Oh, didn’t you have that English exam today? That one you were stressing about?” 

“Yep,” he replied, his heart dropping. He’d been doing his very best not to think about that exam. “It was fine.” 

There was a moment of silence, and then: 

“Bollocks!” Roy proclaimed. Moss gasped, holding the phone even closer to his ear. 

“Roy!” he whispered, scandalised. 

“Oh but it is, isn’t it!” Roy said. “You did that... thing with your voice. Now c’mon, you know you can tell me anything.” 

“I don’t think it went very well,” Moss confessed. He found himself sniffing back tears as he said it. “I had no idea what silly old Cassie in the story we were supposed to be analysing was thinking. I felt like a right old giddy goat sitting there trying to figure it out.” 

“I’m sure it went just fine,” Roy said. His words were soothing, and Moss somehow felt much better almost instantly. 

“What about you?” Moss asked as he took another bite of toast. “Isn’t it your Junior Certificate exams?” 

“Yeah,” Roy said, sighing heavily. “They’re a bugger but I’m getting through ‘em.” 

“Did they put you in a separate room to everyone else?” 

“...No?” Roy sounded confused as he said this, which threw Moss off guard. He paused mid-bite. “Why?” 

“Well, it’s just...” he said, trailing off. 

“Did yours?” 

“Yeah.” 

They were both quiet again as they mulled this over. Moss started to run his hands along his thigh, but then he caught himself and settled for fiddling with the wire of the telephone. 

“That’s weird,” Roy eventually said. “Whatever: did you read the new Batman!?” 

They talked for nearly an hour and a half, and gradually the thought of the separate exam rooms was forgotten. Moss’ father got in at around half past five and Moss was still on the phone. Jerry gave his son’s hair a fond ruffle as he went past, but he didn’t even look up from the phone which he was laughing into. When he went into the kitchen to hang his keys up, he saw his wife in the doorway watching Maurice with a loving yet pained look in her eyes. 

“Are you alright, my love?” he said softly, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“He’s growing up, Jerry,” she replied, her voice full of anguish. “Our baby boy is finally growing up.” 

“Perhaps,” Jerry said dryly. “But he’ll still be here when he’s thirty.” 

Gillian hit him with her tea towel. 

***

Unfortunately, at six p.m, the boys had to say goodbye. Roy’s mum was calling him for dinner, and Moss’ mum was insisting that he got some physics revision done whilst he had a chance. If a little sadly, they exchanged goodbyes, but just before Roy could hang up there was some muffled crashing and Moss heard the phone being taken off of the other boy. He looked at the phone in confusion. 

“Hiya, love!” Joan Trenneman chirped. Moss had to suppress a giggle as he heard Roy shouting indignantly in the background, and then a muted _thwack_ that sounded distinctly like a cushion and silence. “Be a dear and put me on speaker, then get your parents?” 

Moss did as he was told, managing not to hang up the phone like he had done the first time he put it on speaker and calling his parents over. This happened on a fairly regular basis, but usually Joan and Gillian would ask their respective sons to leave before they had their little natter. 

This time, they didn’t. 

“So, I know it’s Maurice’s birthday in June,” Joan said once the obligatory “hello”s and “how are you”s were completed. Moss internally cringed at the use of his first name by someone other than his parents or his teachers. Usually, Joan just called him Moss but she insisted on his ‘proper’ name when she was speaking to his parents. “And since the boys will both be off school, we were wondering if he’d like to come over and stay with us for a week?” 

Moss’ mouth dropped open from shock. He could see Roy again! For a whole week! He looked excitedly up at his mother, but his stomach dropped when he saw the skeptical look on her face. 

“That would be lovely,” Gillian replied, her voice falsely sugary-sweet. “But--” 

“Not on his actual birthday, of course,” Joan interrupted. “Maybe the week after? I’m sure the boys would love to see each other again!” 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure they would,” Gillian said. “But I’m just not sure Maurice is... ready.” 

“Mum!” Moss exclaimed before he could stop himself. At the exact same time, he heard Roy go “oi!” in the background. 

“Well, I’m right,” she said angrily. “You’d be travelling all by yourself!” 

“The plane ride is an hour and a half!” Roy chipped in. His voice was clear, so he’d obviously managed to wrestle the phone off his mother. “The stewardesses will look after him, and if you don’t mind me saying--” 

“We’ll pay for the flight,” Joan said, having now presumably taken the phone back. “I’m sure Maurice can handle it. We’ll be there at the airport when he gets there, and--” 

“Don’t _I_ get a say in this!?” Moss shouted, more emotion conveyed in his voice than anyone had ever heard from him before. “I’ll be fine, mum! I’m not a little kid anymore!” 

“I don’t think you’re ready,” Gillian said, a sense of finality to her words. She turned to her husband. “Don’t you agree, Jerry?” 

Jerry was looking incredibly uneasy. Eyes on the floor, he said, 

“I actually think we should let him go.” 

“ _What_!?” she shrieked. This caused Moss to instinctively cover his ears with his hands. Seeing this, Gillian lowered her voice. “You think we should pack him off on a flight halfway across the country by himself?” 

“He’ll be a man soon,” Jerry replied. “And he needs to learn how to look after himself. Quite frankly, you wrap the boy up in cotton wool. He needs to make his own experiences.” 

“Fine!” Gillian exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “He can go! But I am _not_ happy about it!” 

And she stormed off into the kitchen. A moment later, they heard a muffled sob. 

“Thank you for the offer, Joan,” Jerry said, leaning forward towards the machine. “I’m sure Maurice can’t wait to come visit. And don’t worry, we’ll pay for the flights.” 

Awkwardly, he nodded and then speed walked to the kitchen. Moss took the phone off speaker. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Roy asked, his voice full of concern. 

“Yep, I’ll be okay,” he replied as he wiped a tear from his cheek. 

“Call me tomorrow morning?” 

“Why? We never call on a Saturday”

There was a pause. 

“I just want to make sure you’re alright.” 

And that sentence kept Moss going throughout the entire screaming match his parents had that night. It got him through missing dinner, missing television time with his mother and even through the slight asthma attack. 

Because Roy was always going to be there for him. 

***

**_One month later: 12th June 1994_ **

“Happy birthday Moss!!” 

Moss laughed quietly down the phone. It was seven a.m, and he’d only been awake and sixteen for half an hour, but already it felt _right_ somehow. Of course, he was on the phone to Roy. Normally, this would not have been taking place until at least eleven a.m, if Roy had managed to drag himself up by then, but Sunday morning meant church for the Trennemans. The Moss family had never really bothered with anything past a christening, but being Irish and staunchly Catholic meant that church was an unmovable part of the schedule for Roy and his family. Hence the early phone call. 

“Thank you,” he said, careful to keep his voice low. 

“Have you had your presents yet?” Roy asked. 

“No, my parents aren’t even up yet.”

“Any ideas on what they might be?” 

Moss cast a look over to the pile of presents that stood on the table in the dining room. There weren't many, but there was one big box that stood out from the rest. Too big to be a games console, and he already had the Super Nintendo, an Atari _and_ a Gameboy, so it couldn’t be that. Too small to be a television. 

“I’m hoping they’ve got me a computer,” he said. He heard Roy gasp. 

“Seriously?” Roy exclaimed. “Like, your _own_ computer?” 

“Dad has been saying that a friend of his has an old Apple Macintosh that he doesn’t want anymore for a couple of weeks,” Moss replied. “But that probably doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Um, yah it does!” 

“What?” 

“It means they’ve probably got it for you!” Roy chuckled, and if Moss had to guess he’d say he sounded happy. “Aw, Moss, that’s awesome!” 

Moss smiled, and he wished that Roy could have been there to see it. 

“So, are you ready for tomorrow?” the other said. 

“Yep,” Moss said as his excitement began to build. “Packed my bags last night!” 

His mother had helped him. When he says “helped”, he means his mother had insisted on barging in his room, sending him downstairs and doing it for him. It had been nice not to have to choose between his clothes, but he still would have liked to have been asked. 

He was lucky he was even going at all, to be honest. His mother had been intermittently exploding about it. Sometimes at Moss, sometimes at his father, but mostly it was at both of them. The first couple of times it had happened, Moss had burst into tears right there in front of her, but towards the end he’d managed to hold the tears back until he got to his room. She’d sobbed all the way through buying the tickets. It had been all too uncomfortable.

“We can’t wait for you to get here,” Roy said, pulling him out of his thoughts. He made a small, appreciative noise. “Mam’s already started cooking.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to be any, erm, trouble,” Moss stammered. Roy laughed again. 

“You’re not, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s just... her way, y’know?” 

They talked a little more about basic logistical issues, when Moss’ flight was scheduled to reach the airport, how long the journey back would take, et cetera. Roy wished him a happy birthday once again, asked for some will to live to get him through church and then hung up, leaving Moss still laughing alone in his hallway. 

***

All in all, his birthday had been a success. In the end, Roy had been right and he had indeed gotten the second-hand Macintosh. He’d been thrilled with that. Along with the computer, he’d got a few t-shirts, some comics, the like. Then, just when Moss thought he’d finished, his father had pulled a small box out from a drawer and handed it to him. He looked at his parents, confused. They just beamed at him, and his mother gestured for him to open it. 

Inside was a telephone. 

“So you don’t have to come downstairs every time you want to talk to Roy,” his mother said. She looked almost... proud? He looked at her, even managing to look her right in the eyes in an attempt to show just how much gratitude he had for her. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice hushed. “Thank you... so much.” 

But now it was Monday morning. The morning of the flight. He was going to see Roy in just under four hours’ time, given that all went to plan! His flight was scheduled for nine a.m precisely, but his father had insisted that they get to the airport a good three hours early, meaning that he’d been up since four in the morning, because of _course_ they had to allow an extra half an hour for traffic despite the fact that the drive to the airport only took twenty or so minutes, and his mother had insisted that they all have something proper to eat before they set off, despite the fact that she _knew_ he was going to be too nervous to eat anything. 

It was half past seven, they’d been at the airport for two hours already and Moss was bored out of his skull. 

All of his luggage had been checked in. He’d passed through security. Currently, they were all sitting in the departure lounge. Well, Moss was sitting: his mother was perusing some of the duty-free perfumes and his father was standing awkwardly next to her, sipping at a pint and allowing slips of probably foul-smelling scents to be shoved under his nose. 

Moss was desperately trying to read his comic book, but he couldn’t concentrate. Should he be buying Mrs Trenneman something to say thank you for having him? That’s what normal people did, wasn’t it? What about chocolates? Did she even _like_ chocolates? She must do. Who didn’t like chocolates? What about some alcohol? No, he was only sixteen, they’d never let him take it on the plane. 

“Are you alright, poppet?” 

His mother’s voice, all of a sudden right next to his ear, made him jump. He turned to look at her, nodding. 

“I’m fine,” he said somewhat unconvincingly. 

“Because if you don’t want to go, it’s fine,” she said, sitting down on the seat next to him. He suppressed a sigh. This, _again_? She’d been going on at him like that all morning. “Mrs Trenneman will understand, and--” 

“I was just wondering if I should give her a gift,” he interrupted, speaking louder than was necessary to drown her out. “To say thank you.” 

His mother stopped for a moment, but then she smiled at him. 

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” she said. “Why don’t we go and see what they have in the shops?” 

Moss nodded, happy to finally have something to do. 

***

“And you’ll call us as soon as you get to the Trennemans’, won’t you?” Gillian pressed, the fifteenth time she’d said such a thing that morning. They were by the gate now, and Moss was waiting to board the plane, but apparently not until his mother had asked him a _billion_ questions. 

“Yes, mum,” he said. 

His mother opened her mouth to say something else, but couldn’t seem to bring herself to say it. Burying her head in her husband’s shoulder, she let out a muffled sob. Moss wasn’t sure what to do, so he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her for one, two, three, four seconds before letting go. She looked up, smiling at him. 

“Have a good time, son,” his father said. 

Moss held onto his backpack, nodded a little to both of his parents and made his way through the gate and down towards the plane. 

Finally, he was not going to be alone. 

*** 

The plane ride went by relatively smoothly. Despite his near-legendary motion sickness, he managed not to throw up, but he was still relieved when the plane landed in Cork airport. The stewardesses were lovely to him the whole way there, making sure he was doing okay, asking if he was comfortable, even giving him free drinks and snacks. Moss had the sneaking suspicion that his mother may have been involved somewhere. 

He’d been so jittery when the plane landed. He’d jumped up out of his seat, only to have to stay standing there like a numpty for fifteen minutes whilst everyone else filed out. Once off the plane, he speed-walked through the gate and over to the escalators, vibrating with excitement as he scanned the arrivals lounge. Old lady, old lady, old lady... 

Roy! 

There he was, grinning, holding a hand-drawn sign with his name and a happy birthday message scrawled across it. His mother and father were on either side of him, smiles on their faces. Moss’ face lit up when he saw them and he waved frantically at them. Thankfully, they all waved back. 

Moss ran off the end of the escalator towards them. His inhibitions seemed to have left him, and he found himself barrelling into Roy, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s lanky frame. To his utmost surprise, Roy hugged him back tightly. 

“Welcome to Ireland, Moss,” Joan said with a smile once the boys had let each other go. “How was the flight over?” 

“Not too bad,” he said. They began to make their way across the airport to collect Moss’ luggage. Moss watched Roy as they did so. The other boy was smiling, his sign tucked under his arm as he strolled towards the luggage carousel. When he looked around, his eyes hit the duty-free shops and he remembered. “Oh!”

He stopped short, taking his backpack off and pulling out the slightly battered box of chocolates. He ran to catch up with the others, tapping Joan on the shoulder. 

“Yes, love?” she said, turning to him with a smile. 

“Chocolates,” Moss blurted. He held them out towards her. “To say thank you.” 

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” she cooed, although she took the box from him anyway, so Moss wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth. “Thank you, Moss.” 

He was about to say something else, but he stopped when Roy tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and saw that the other boy was handing him his luggage. He accepted it with a grin. 

With that, they set off for the Trennemans’. 

*** 

The boys didn’t stop talking the whole way back to Blarney. Despite the fact they’d been talking every week, it was never going to be the same as talking to each other in person and they had so much to tell each other. Privately, Joan couldn’t help but think about how naturally their conversation seemed to flow. For most, this would not be a particularly extraordinary feat, but considering how the boys were on their own, especially with people who they had only seen once or twice, it was a miracle. 

You see, Joan and Gillian had spoken a lot about their respective sons’... _quirks_ . Gillian had a name for Moss’: autism. According to her, Moss had been diagnosed at just three years old. He hadn’t spoken until he was nearly five, and had spent the whole of infant school being home schooled, as they were too scared to send him to a regular school. Eventually, they’d decided to take the plunge and send him to a regular primary school, something that Gillian regarded as _“the best decision we ever made”_. He’’d been in experimental therapy for a year when he was ten, but was still blissfully unaware of his condition. Gillian said she didn’t know how to tell him. 

“He knows he’s different, I think,” she’d said once. “I just don’t think he knows how.” 

The more Joan heard about Moss’ condition from Gillian, the more she found herself drawing parallels with Roy’s behaviours. Granted, his social skills were ten times better than Moss’, but there were a lot of other things that were very similar. She tried not to think about it too much, though. It was no use worrying about now, because Roy was just perfect the way he was, and she wouldn’t want to change him. 

They finally fell silent when they reached the house. Moss gaped at the farmhouse, with its Tudor-style front and fake thatched roof. There weren't any houses like that in central London, or at least not in the bit where he lived. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said in a hushed voice. 

“Aw, it’s really nothing,” Joan laughed as she got out of the car. “But I’m glad you like it, sweetheart.” 

“There’s so many fields!” Moss continued. He seemed like he was almost in a trance as he got out of the car, taking a deep breath of the fresh country air. “And... the air’s different.” 

“That will be the lack of pollution,” Roy said, hauling Moss’ bags out of the boot. 

“Well, it’s very nice,” Moss said, taking one of the bags off Roy. The Irish family laughed, and Joan ushered them all into the house. 

In the hallway there was a huge shiny banner in holographic foil that read _Happy Birthday!_ taped to the wall. Moss gaped at it, a smile growing on his face. 

“Just leave the bags here, lads,” Rob Trenneman said. The boys dropped them immediately with a sigh of relief: they had been quite heavy. They then went through into the kitchen. 

The kitchen was spacious and beautiful, all paneled with gorgeous oak hardwood and with a lovely table to match. Said table was currently being weighed down with at least a metric tonne of food: little cocktail sausages, mini sandwiches, fondant fancies, the lot. At the head of the table there was a huge cake. It was Star Wars themed, and was in the shape of the Millennium Falcon, with some Smarties snuck on as some unorthodox decoration. Moss turned to the Trennemans with tears in his eyes.. 

“You did all of this... for me?” he asked quietly. Joan made a small noise and put her hand over her mouth. Moss thought she looked like she might have been about to cry. Roy came forward, grasping him gently by the shoulder. 

“Of course we did,” he replied. “You deserve it.” 

That was too much for Moss. Burying his face in his hands, he let out a small sob. Straight away, Roy pulled him into a hug, and it felt... comforting. Not constricting and awkward like normal, but _comforting_. He clung on for as long as he could, drinking in the warm tingly feeling in his stomach. 

After nearly a minute, they let each other go. As he was drying his eyes, Moss saw that Joan was doing the same. 

“I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to--” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Joan replied. “Look, we’re still waiting on a few people,” she paused, laughing when Moss gave her a startled look, “--yes, Moss, you’ll be the first English person some of these people see!-- so why don’t you boys go up to the woods for a bit?”

“Yeah, that sounds good, mam,” Roy said. He grinned at Moss, and gestured for him to follow as he went out through the sliding glass door in the kitchen into the garden. As they reached the gate at the foot of the garden, Roy turned back and hollered, “what time do we need to be back?” 

“Three!” was the shouted reply. 

Moss followed Roy through what felt like acres and acres of fields and shrubs. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he got a little bit scared by the cows in a few of the fields, but he never let it show. Eventually, they reached a small forested area. They climbed through an overgrown wild land, over fallen branches and through patches of stinging nettles until eventually they reached a small hollow-like area. 

There was a gentle grassy slope surrounded by sheltering trees, with a small stream flowing at the base of the slope. Sunlight was just breaking through the leaves of the trees, giving the entire area a mystical and ethereal feeling. Roy led Moss down onto the slope, spreading his jacket for them to sit on. 

They sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the nature around them. It was like they didn’t quite know what to say to each other. 

“I’ve missed you,” Roy said quietly. Moss looked up from where he’d been watching a swallow on a rock by the stream. 

“Me too,” he whispered back. Unconsciously, they moved closer together, so close that their thighs were touching. 

“I like talking to you,” Roy murmured. He rested his hand on Moss’ thigh. 

“I like how you listen,” Moss mumbled. He leant forward slightly, but he was unsure of why. 

“Same,” Roy said, his voice hushed. Finally, Moss couldn’t bear it any longer. He surged forward and pressed his lips to Roy’s. Roy let out a small squeak, but he soon leant into it, resting his hand on the side of Moss’ face. Moss tentatively wrapped his arms around Roy, pulling him closer. He went risky, nervously opening his mouth a little, like they did on the telly. 

That was too much for Roy. He broke away, moving away from Moss. Moss looked up at him with wounded eyes. 

“We can’t do this,” Roy blurted. “Guys don’t do this with each other! This is what guys do with girls!” 

“Uh huh,” Moss mumbled, looking back to the stream. The bird had gone from its rock. 

“But this doesn’t mean we aren’t still mates. Best mates, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice quiet. 

Mates. Yeah, he could do mates. 

Right? 

***

The party went fairly well. Some of the guests were a little hostile towards him, but all-in-all they were friendly. The rest of the week, too, was good. They visited various beauty spots, and Moss was never bored. He even went to church with them on his last full day there. That had been an... experience. It wasn’t exactly his _thing_ , he knew that now, but he was sort of glad, in a way, that he’d tried it. 

The boys had been alone many times, but there had been no more kissing. In fact, they hadn’t even discussed it. They’d played games, they’d watched telly, they’d even read comics together, but they refused to face the issue of the kiss. At the end of the holiday, when they were standing in the airport, Roy revealed that he was coming to London for college: the same college Moss was going to. Moss was thrilled, of course. 

Through the years, they stayed best friends. When they went to university they moved in together, even went to Amsterdam for one disastrous weekend. But the kiss always stayed buried. Until...

**_2009: after the Incident at the Gas Works_ **

They’d kissed. 

Twice. 

Yes, it was under a lot of duress, and was to avoid being arrested for accidentally aiding and abetting a bank robbery. But there was one thing that wouldn’t leave Roy’s mind. 

_Why did he kiss me again even though he knew about the bins?_

He had to know the answer. He had to. He had to know what Moss was thinking. He’d sat for the rest of the day at work on edge, barely able to look at Moss without flashing back to being pushed back against the garage, with Moss’ mouth on his whilst the sirens rushed past... 

Jen had gone home early. She said she had a date: standard. Nearly an hour after this, Roy watched as Moss got up to leave, pulling his coat on and putting his backpack on. The Irishman left it right up until the last minute when he jumped up from his desk, saying Moss’ name very loudly. The other turned to him with a smile. 

“Yes, Roy?” he said, his voice chipper than ever. 

“We need to talk about earlier,” Roy replied. He was tense , standing by his desk with his fist clenched on top of it. Moss nodded, taking his backpack off and putting it back on the coat-hook. He came into the middle of the room, standing there a little awkwardly. 

“I agree,” he said. Roy let out a sigh of relief: at least he wouldn’t have to battle with it. “I mean, what were they _thinking_ , robbing a bank? Very silly, if you ask me.” 

Roy huffed, coming forward to stand right in front of Moss. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, voice fierce and low. Moss visibly gulped. Up close, Roy realised he was slightly taller than Moss, just so that Moss’ hair was tickling his cheek. 

“What do you mean?” Moss replied. He was lowering his voice, and Roy gave him a strange look. 

“Why’re you lowering your voice?” 

“Don’t know. Sorry.” 

They were silent again for a few moments, looking at their shoes. Then Roy looked up and said, 

“I’m talking about the kiss.” 

Moss remained quiet still. Eventually, he looked up, and looked Roy right in the eye as he said, 

“Do you remember that day in the hollow?” 

Roy stopped short. He opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. 

“I never forgot,” he whispered. 

“Roy,” Moss said. He paused, taking a deep breath. “I feel... I am romantically attracted to you. I have been for a long time, and I-I can’t deny it anymore. I can’t!” 

At that moment, time seemed to freeze. Roy had to take stock of everything he’d ever believed or known. Wasn’t he straight? Was he bi? Was he something else entirely? One part of him was screaming that he was straight, he was going to have to let Moss down as gently as he could. However, the other part, the part that was soft-spoken and lived deep down inside of him, was calmly telling him that none of that mattered, that only _Moss_ mattered now. He finally had a chance to be happy with the one he really wanted, and was he going to pass that up just to fit in with some silly binary? 

“Well,” he said softly. “Maybe I can help with that.” 

With that, he leant down and pressed his lips to Moss’. 

Instantly, fireworks went off all around. In that moment, in the basement they’d worked in for all of those years with their lips pressed together, everything changed and everything was different. Not in a bad way, of course. In the best way possible, in fact. Roy wrapped his arms around Moss’ waist, and Moss’ hands found their way into Roy’s hair. They stood there, kissing and holding each other close for as long as they could, trying to make up for all that time that they had lost. 

At least, until they heard Jen’s shriek from behind. 

They didn’t jump apart. They didn’t even let go of each other. They stopped kissing, and both turned to face Jen, giving her equally furious glares. 

“Do you mind?” Roy hissed before she could say anything. “We’re tryna make up for lost time here.” 

Jen nodded frantically, jabbering to herself as she backed out of the office, slamming the door behind her. They heard the door lock, and both let out a laugh. Moss turned back to Roy, looking up at him with bright and shining eyes.

“Well,” Roy said, voice low and teasing. “Where were we?” 

Moss smiled, and pulled Roy into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments, they really make my day (especially comments lmao)!!! xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Please leave kudos and comments, they really make my day xx


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